


xu minghao and the no good terrible rotten bad day

by newvision



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newvision/pseuds/newvision
Summary: It’s not like Mingyu has never crossed his mind in the past 6 years since they’d been at Hogwarts, but he of all people knows that time brings with it inevitable change and maybe Mingyu isn’t the same petty, naive, obnoxious, temperamental, attention-seeking teenager he once was.(Though, after the length of that list, he’s starting to doubt that belief.)for prompt 19: Hogwarts!AU Mingyu and Minghao were rivals in their school day. now they're considered as aces in their respective fields. the headmaster calls them back to school to help him to fix a serious problem in Hogwarts.





	xu minghao and the no good terrible rotten bad day

**Author's Note:**

> this was so incredibly fun to write because i have 1) been craving for a long hp au and apparently i had to Do It Myself so thank you to whoever prompted this because i got to 2) unleash my ridiculous arsenal of harry potter facts and opinions.
> 
> i hope you love this as much as i loved writing it!

Minghao thinks that if he looks at this letter for even a second longer, he’s going to hex his own eyes off just so he’ll no longer be obligated to confront the reality of this situation.

 

The offending object sits folded on his desk, folded neatly despite the fact that he’d very unceremoniously chucked it away after reading it possibly a million times over, unable to believe his eyes. The Hogwarts seal is still neatly pressed into the parchment, completely unaffected by Minghao’s dramatics - which generally sums up his relationship with said institution. Minghao, on the other hand, has deteriorated from convincing himself that things are  _ just fine _ and that he can just keep working until he has to eventually deal with this, to sitting slumped at his desk with his face buried in his arms, completely defeated. 

 

To die at the hands of what he thought was buried schoolyard drama is not the way he thought he would be going. He had imagined heroic deaths, saving the world from Death Eaters and Dark Magic in hidden corners of the world where he would be remembered only in legends and by word of mouth. Or, deaths by the elements; the blazing fire of a Hungarian Horntail as he saved a crouching family from its hellish mouth (granted that this would usually be handled by the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, but he can dream) or the spindly grasp of the claws of a cursed potion he would drink in order to save his charges. Of course, as an Auror, Minghao has had plenty of time to imagine all the different ways he could be struck down in the field. He calls it ‘forward thinking’. Seungcheol prefers to call it ‘morbid and pessimistic’. 

 

After the contents of that letter, though, Minghao thinks he just might willingly take the offer of a cursed potion sooner rather than later.

  
  


To: Xu Minghao

Address: Ministry of Magic, Level Two ; Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Desk at the Back of the Room, Down The Stairs and To The Left

 

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

 

Dear Mr. Xu,

 

I was hoping to be able to write to you under better circumstances, but unfortunately I cannot say that this is such a case. We require your expertise at Hogwarts, and desperately so. The school has a crisis on its hands. 

 

I regret to inform you that I cannot disclose the details of the situation until you have agreed to offer your services, for the purpose of confidentiality. You understand, of course, that this news cannot yet reach the parents of our students, lest they misunderstand. 

 

For now, all I can tell you is that should you choose to agree to our request, you will be working with some of the students that you may know from your time at Hogwarts. At the moment, Misters Jeon Wonwoo, Joshua Hong, and Kim Mingyu have confirmed their positions on our committee. It would be of the greatest service to the school if yourself and Mr. Choi agree to partake in this operation.

 

This school needs people like you, Mr. Xu. We sincerely hope you will see it in yourself the greater good of giving back to the community that raised you. 

 

Discussions for resolution begin on the 21st of June. We await your owl no later than the 30th of May. 

 

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

  
  


Kim Mingyu, of course, is a name he thought he would never need to hear again after he turned 17. It was always a matter of being great and getting the hell out of school, away from people he knew; only because it got just a little tiring to be held down to a blood status and a few meaningless letters that hold generations of prestige printed on slowly crumbling paper. Mingyu had been one of the people who tied him down to everything he never wanted to be, and no matter how hard he tries to forget, the memory has wrapped itself around his brain like the ever-twitching tentacles of a Devil’s Snare, eager for its next victim. 

 

The first time they met, they’d been snotty 11 year olds with uniform plain black robes and years of individual prejudice built up behind closed doors. Minghao carries the weight of 80 years of Xu lineage upon his bony shoulders in perfectly tailored robes, despite the fact that they’ll really only be using these for the train - once they got to Hogwarts, they’d be sorted, and that would be the decisive end of any kind of unity that may have existed in the softly fizzling excitement that seems to surround most first-year students. He walks with his head held high but his footsteps are unendingly light, like he’s trying not to disturb the air around him. Mingyu, however, is gangly and clumsy and when he reaches for his trunk his robes lift to show bony ankles covered by holey socks. Smiles come easily to him, in the way he bares his teeth invitingly at anyone and everyone while Minghao scowls and tries to read in the company of his future Slytherin seniors. Mingyu had passed through the carriage, all smiles as he talked to another boy clad in black robes whose eyes were marked quite noticeably with crow’s feet - definitely not a prospective Slytherin, Minghao notes. It was only as they was walking through the cabin that Mingyu’s smile fades into what could be labelled as nothing short of disgust, his features turning ugly and unforgiving as he gives Minghao a dismissive once-over. Minghao, an 11-year-old made of nothing but impulse decisions and emotional flare-ups, sticks his leg out and sends Mingyu sprawling down the aisle. 

 

He groans at the memory, running a frustrated hand through his over-long black bangs, sending them in all directions. Remembering it now embarrasses the hell out of him, of course, but he likes to think that his burning shame is simply an allusion to his character development over the years. Seungcheol would laugh and call it a cringe-fest, or something equally stupid. 

 

It’s good to know that no matter how many years have gone by since then, his and Seungcheol’s Slytherin-Gryffindor tendencies still stand. You’d think that permanently characterising an 11-year-old at the cusp of their years of big emotional breakthroughs would be an enormous mistake with disastrous consequences, but it’s surprising how well their initial impressions hold. Minghao is just as biting and self-preserving as ever (although  _ maybe _ now he might be less willing to purposely trip anyone he felt wronged by), and Seungcheol is - well, Seungcheol is just as rambunctious and headstrong and stubborn as ever. Not that Minghao doesn’t love him, though. He may be a stupid Gryffindor with a deathwish, but he’s also Minghao’s colleague and an unyielding source of support to him.

 

Most of the time, that’s what Seungcheol is. Times like now, though, he’s more of a nuisance that Minghao is about 10 seconds from casting a Bat-Bogey Hex on.

 

“Did you get McGonagall’s letter?” Seungcheol asks innocently, hoisting himself onto Minghao’s pristine desk and successfully knocking over at least 13 painstakingly-curated trinket displays. Minghao’s brow furrows, and he immediately reaches out to right one of the smaller statues he’d been given while on a mission in Albania - a silver vampire, its fangs bared in warning. Seungcheol scoffs at this, pawing at Minghao’s hand just to get his attention. It’s with a long-suffering sigh that Minghao finally looks up at Seungcheol, already anticipating the shit-eating grin that will definitely have etched itself onto his features. 

 

“Yes, I got the letter,” Minghao replies curtly, feigning focus on very painstakingly rearranging the knick knacks that reside in one corner of his desk, away from the interdepartmental memos that seem to be hovering in a messy pile dangerously close to where his elbows are. Things seem to be going on a set course downhill nowadays. Between this new Mingyu Mess and the snowball of mishaps at work that require his attention, it just feels like the whole world is conspiring on Operation Kill Xu Minghao.

 

“So we’re going back to school then? A little reunion for all of us girlfriends?” Seungcheol asks lightly, swinging his leg back and forth so it collides with the wood of Minghao’s desk in rhythmic thumps. The vampire figurine topples over again.

 

“I don’t know,” Minghao answers, praying to every god that Seungcheol will just stop looking at him like he knows him because Minghao himself doesn’t know how he feels about the prospect of seeing Kim Mingyu again. It’s not like Mingyu has never crossed his mind in the past 6 years since they’d been at Hogwarts, but he of all people knows that time brings with it inevitable change and maybe Mingyu isn’t the same petty, naive, obnoxious, temperamental, attention-seeking teenager he once was. 

(Though, after the length of that list, he’s starting to doubt that belief.)

 

“Well, let me know soon, then. At least if you decide you’re going or not. If not, I can try to fill in,” Seungcheol offers, and Minghao snaps his head up to eye him suspiciously. Seungcheol is known for taking the piss out of people at any given opportunity - if anything, him coming over only made Minghao raise his hackles in preparation for blunt remarks and careless attempts at humour. This just doesn’t seem to add up.

 

“What’re you playing at?” Minghao shoots back, eyes narrowed. Seungcheol immediately slides off of the desk, his hands placed in front of his chest in the universal gesture of surrender. 

 

“Nothing, I swear! It’s not like Mingyu and I are close friends or anything and I’m definitely not trying to force you to go back either I’m  _ really _ just trying to look out for you here, Hao,” Seungcheol rambles, his eyes wide. “I know you have...complex emotions towards him, so I’m really just trying to be a buffer here,” he finishes, worrying his bottom lip. 

 

Minghao considers this for a second, thinks of how Seungcheol had immediately become like a protective older brother to him the minute he entered the Auror headquarters. He remembers his first day on the job, holding a cardboard box of personal belongings and more than enough reference books, only to be met with a gummy smile and a warm welcome - so unlike the harshness he was expecting, the snide remarks about the irony of a Pure-Blooded wizard going into the field of Magical Law Enforcement and Protection. Seungcheol had taken him under his wing without him even having to ask, and he’s more than grateful for that, of course he is. Regardless, Seungcheol is known for his devious mind and ridiculous ideas. Therefore, it isn’t  too far-fetched to imagine that he’s got something up his sleeve. It’s a wonder he wasn’t made a Slytherin.

 

“What was that about you and Kim Mingyu being close friends?” Minghao interrupts suddenly, eyeing Seungcheol’s nervously clasped hands.

 

“Nothing! All I said is that we definitely aren’t!” Seungcheol blurts out, but it comes out far too high-pitched to even be considered as the truth, and Minghao’s jaw drops. 

 

“Traitor!” Minghao cries, putting his hand over his heart in mock agony. He hates to admit it, but Seungcheol wasn’t that far off when he had mentioned Minghao’s ‘complex emotions’ towards Mingyu; on one hand, Minghao likes to think that all of their rivalry is in the past, and he’s got a life of his own now, one that until very recently was Kim Mingyu-free. On the other hand, Minghao has never forgiven Mingyu for what he did. Some dark, gnarled part of him never learned to let go and is more than willing to set fire to any rotten branches that will lead him back to a spot in time where he and Mingyu have to exist in the same space again. 

 

Unless, of course, that branch so happens to be Choi Seungcheol and Minghao had decided long ago that he was tired of his life being so deeply coloured by the things he’s lost. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol wails, getting down on one knee and desperately clutching Minghao’s free hand. “Forgive me, light of my life, it was a mistake,” he continues, starting to pepper Minghao’s hand with kisses. At this, Minghao snatches his hand back, grimacing at Seungcheol slobbering all over his fingers. He pulls a tissue out of its caddy, wiping his hand with it. Seungcheol still looks like a kicked puppy, though, so he reaches out to pat his hand reassuringly. 

 

“It’s fine, I won’t hold it against you,” Minghao murmurs, sighing at the way Seungcheol lifts his head far too quickly, his eyes already ablaze with the excitement of diving headfirst into more utterly moronic shenanigans. 

 

“Is this you saying yes to McGonagall’s request?” Seungcheol asks so hopefully, and Minghao can’t bear to reject him.

 

“I guess so. The past is in the past, it’s all for the greater good, time heals, and any other cliche you can come up with,” Minghao drawls, sighing deeply as he leans back in his chair. Seungcheol, ever the man of controlled reactions, immediately jumps up with his hands already flying towards his wand. 

 

“Great! I’ll send a reply back to the school right away then,” Seungcheol volunteers, turning back to head back up the stairs to his own desk. “You won’t regret this!” he calls, waving to Minghao as he disappears up the stairs.

 

“If there is a god, he’ll strike me down now,” Minghao mumbles, softly enough so that Seungcheol doesn’t hear it. He isn’t sure exactly what possessed him to make this decision; between the bouncing energy that Seungcheol seems to exude and the dizzying shock of the fact that he might have to see Kim Mingyu again - no,  _ work _ with Kim Mingyu again - he’s about 80% certain he’s lost his mind, and 2 seconds away from booking himself into St. Mungo’s. 

 

Still, though, it seems there exists a needy part of him that wants nothing more than closure, a clean wound stitched up only to never be prodded at again. 

 

It’s that thought that he forcibly brings to the front of his mind for the rest of the day, whenever his subconscious betrays him by wandering into territory of soft brown eyes and a wide, wide smile that always seemed to be ready for anyone but him. 

 

                                                                     / 

Over the next few weeks, Minghao does anything and everything to keep himself from thinking (read: worrying) about seeing Mingyu again. Initially, this plan works fine. He drowns himself in work and new requests, spending endless hours down in the archive or helping to train new Auror recruits. Work is difficult and requires him to be on his guard every single moment of the day, just to make sure some stupid, ballsy Gryffindor-type recruit doesn’t pour Beetle Eyes into his morning coffee as payback for Minghao chewing them out during training. Being one of the only Pure-Blooded wizards in Magical Law Enforcement that came specifically from Slytherin has earned him a target on his back, but it’s one that he just has to learn to live with (even as he wishes approximately 37.2 times a day that he could be anywhere but here.)

 

A real problem, unfortunately, confronts him while he packs. He’d ended up opening his old Hogwarts trunk from 7th year - not that he’d never unpacked, but he uses it as a sort of catch-all storage for old Hogwarts mementos and such. This grand organizational plan just means he’s now sentenced himself to hours spent holed up in his room, going through moth-eaten house scarves and old trinkets that lay forgotten and almost powdered at the bottom of his trunk. 

 

As cleaning usually tends to go, Minghao sorts through the piles of his old things with a nostalgic slowness. Hogwarts may hold bitter memories for him overall, but it’s the times that he sees preserved in small, easily-overlooked artifacts that keep him warm at night. He finds a party hat shoved in the middle of the trunk, amongst the pages of one of his old spellbooks that he had kept. The hat is exceedingly Muggle-like, with a flimsy string at the bottom that went around the wearer’s chin, and the stripes of emerald and silver that colour it are slightly dented, but still intact. 

 

He fiddles the string between his fingers, and feels an involuntary rush of warmth at the memory that reveals itself to him - himself and a few of his seniors from Slytherin had gotten their hands on some mead and brandy on Joshua’s birthday, and had therefore taken it upon themselves to throw him a party he would remember. Joshua was one of the very few half-blooded wizards that were sorted into Slytherin. He was a rarity, and not everyone was welcoming of him. Slytherins prided themselves and their families on maintaining the purity of blood in a wizarding world that was growing exceedingly diverse, and they saw Joshua as a symbol of the ever-loosening prestige of blood power in the world. His 6th year had been particularly bad, prejudice amongst the students digging its claws deeper into their every interaction, until Joshua had almost become an outcast in the Slytherin dormitories. 

 

It was only Minghao, Jeonghan, and Soonyoung who had decided that enough was enough, and that they would throw Joshua a 16th birthday party that he could look back on with fondness, instead of seeing his Hogwarts experience as a ever-darkening wasteland of grey. The trio had conspired for weeks; Minghao had taken it upon himself to go into the kitchens, and ask an extremely timid house-elf to make a cake in Joshua’s favourite flavour (black forest) as well as some snacks from the Muggle world (Jeonghan had told him that they were called ‘finger foods’, and Minghao does his best to explain this such that they would not end up with an actual plate of fingers when the day finally arrives.) Soonyoung tries to root through some of Joshua’s more prized possessions in hopes of getting him a really good gift - in the end, puzzled by his square device that ‘stores’ music and his wishes to see a Muggle band perform live in skeletal band outfits - they pool their money together and purchase a Weird Sisters record for him. After all, Joshua had once remarked that one of the things he missed most about the Muggle world was the amount of music he could enjoy. 

 

Minghao lets an involuntary smile cross his face as he remembers Joshua’s expression of complete shock from that night, dissolving into disbelief and finally - a soft, bubbling happiness when he wraps his arms around Minghao and Jeonghan and Soonyoung, endlessly whispering his thanks. 

 

With a sigh, Minghao carefully places the hat onto his nightstand, the colours glinting faintly in the lamplight. It’s only when he turns back to continue rifling through his trunk that he flinches at the sight of a long, black feather quill. It must be 13 years now since he got it, and yet the plume shines just as brightly and temptingly as when he first saw it bathed in the sunlight of the windows of the Charms classroom all those years ago. 

 

It’d been one of his first classes at Hogwarts, and he still remembers the way his wand felt like it weighed a million pounds in the pocket of his robes. Of course, he’d learned to do a little magic as a child amongst the expectations of his pure-blooded parents, but any kind of formal magical education was complete uncharted territory. He reaches up to nervously pat at his fringe as he walks into the classroom, scanning the vicinity to find a seat that will suit him. He has not made any new friends yet, not ones that will stick, anyway - but he supposes that is to be expected. It really only is his second day, after all. Letting out a faint huff, he steels himself and walks to a desk just at the corner of the teacher’s table. It’s fairly empty for now, the classroom filled with a few first-year Slytherins. They’re supposed to be sharing this period with the Gryffindors, but even at a risky 5 minutes before class, they’re nowhere to be seen. 

 

Minghao tuts as a group of panting Gryffindors finally barge into the classroom not 2 minutes before class is supposed to begin. The boy who had hurriedly slid into the empty seat next to Minghao whips around to glare at Minghao, and he flinches backward when he makes eye contact with the same pair of hard brown eyes that belong to the boy from the train. The boy, however, makes no move to indicate that he recognizes Minghao. Perhaps that’s for the best, Minghao thinks. Maybe if he keeps his head down he will survive this lesson, and as soon as it’s over he resolves to go find himself some friends, at the very least, to avoid another awkward situation like this.

 

Unfortunately, however, nothing ever goes his way.

 

“You again,” the boy all but snarls, roughly lifting his book bag onto the table with a threatening ‘thump’. Minghao’s eyes widen ever so slightly, blinking as he watches his seatmate rifle somewhat aimlessly through his bag, hearing several loud thumps as precariously piled books topple over each other. 

 

“Do I know you?” Minghao asks, feigning innocence and begging every god to make sure this is not going where he thinks it is.

 

“Kim Mingyu. You tripped me on the train? Does that ring any bells?” Mingyu snaps in reply, his mouth turned down in an ugly scowl that scrunches his features together and once again Minghao is reminded of how different his lips look when he’s ready for a fight. 

 

Minghao scoffs a little at how Mingyu is all raised hackles, snarling and snapping at someone he’d just met. It had hardly been Minghao’s fault, anyway; he was just reacting in the way he’d been taught to. Aim low, his mother had said. That’s where they least expect you to strike. “Well, I wouldn’t have had to do anything if you weren’t glaring at me when all I was trying to do was mind my own business!” Minghao retorts, his fist already clenching around his wand. It had gone uncomfortably hot in his palm, he realizes, but he keeps a steady grip around it. Kim Mingyu doesn’t look like he’d be above getting into a fight with Minghao right this instant, magic or not.

 

“Everyone knows Slytherins treat the world like its dirt on the bottom of their shoes,” Mingyu fires back, his eyes aflame. “Anyone who sets themselves up to willingly be put in Slytherin is worse, in my book. It’s like announcing to the whole world how elitist and arrogant you are,” Mingyu continues, but despite his aggressive demeanour, his words seem to lack that same spark behind them. They worm their way out of him like a choppy dance routine not practiced enough, like he’s mimicking words he really isn’t familiar enough with, like the environment calls for them so this is what he sees fit to put forth. Minghao raises an eyebrow, catching on immediately.

 

“Is that something you thought of? Or is there truly nothing in that big head of yours beyond absorbing the opinions of others?” Minghao quips in return, his eyes narrowing in hushed delight as Mingyu’s face hardens further, a wrinkle forming where his nose is scrunched. Not that Minghao notices. Not that he’s staring particularly hard at Mingyu. 

 

“Don’t act like-” Mingyu starts to retort, before he’s quickly cut off by Professor Flitwick clearing his throat from his pedestal and shooting them a pointed look. What he lacks in height, Professor Flitwick makes up for in his teaching - he’s quick to pick out the finest of students, and equally capable of reaching out and nipping at those who are falling behind, or slacking. It’s safe to say that neither Mingyu nor Minghao want to cross him on their first day, and just like that they’re at a ceasefire. 

 

“We’ll be starting off with a basic charm today, just one for now. I’m sure some of you must have heard of this by now: the Levitation spell,” Professor Flitwick starts, scanning the room of (mostly) fresh-eyed faces. “So this lesson will be split into two parts: first of all, we’ll be practicing the wrist movement. Repeat after me, please, and  _ no incantations _ ,” Professor Flitwick warns, eyeing Minghao and Mingyu in particular. 

 

Minghao sniffs at this, the audacity of grouping him along with someone who so obviously qualifies as riff-raff. Mingyu, unfortunately, hears him and does what any 11-year-old who isn’t particularly proficient in magic would do: he follows the wand motion Flitwick had demonstrated, only that he exaggerates it enough for his wand to hit the side of Minghao’s cheek. Minghao winces at this, turning his scandalized expression towards Mingyu, who only grins cheekily and shrugs.

 

The rest of the lesson is nothing short of hell.

 

Flitwick had given each pair a feather, at the same time announcing that to save time during lessons, they’d be keeping the seats that they now held. The class had been mostly quiet about this, except for maybe a few groans from the Slytherins that were quickly silenced by some glaring Gryffindors. Mingyu and Minghao are no exception. Mingyu turns to Minghao, completely thunderstruck, and Minghao cannot help the grimace that splits its way across his face. By this time, though, Flitwick has already begun instructing them on the incantation as well as its pronounciation, so this debacle just seems like a fever the both of them shall have to live with for the rest of the year. (Or however long it takes Minghao to find a way out of this, because Minghao will most definitely find a way out of this. He refuses to be anywhere near Kim Mingyu for longer than he has to be.)

 

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mingyu seems to be god-awful at magic. By the middle of the lesson, Minghao is beginning to wonder if the other boy is a wizard at all. The only things that are bursting forth from his wand are sparks, and he’s made the feather in front of them catch fire at least 3 times in the past half hour. He’s been sitting hunched over it ever since, his eyes centered on the feather in complete concentration as Minghao looks on in distaste. Mingyu has been butchering the pronunciation of the incantation, his wand motions are messy and uncontrolled, and he stubbornly refuses all of Minghao’s offers to take over. Typical Gryffindor, Minghao thinks. 

 

It’s with a noise of disgust that Minghao finally pushes Mingyu back with surprising force, shifting the feather so it faces him instead. Closing his eyes, he thinks back to the first time he’d ever felt himself use magic, how it had bubbled up inside his chest and he’d known for sure that he was meant for greatness. Setting his shoulders back, he breathes in, mutters the incantation and waves his wand - and the class goes silent. Slowly lifting an eyelid, Minghao feels his breath catch in his throat as he notices the charred feather that had rested on their desk now levitating several feet high in the middle of the classroom. 

 

Minghao’s face cracks into a slow smile as he watches an impressed expression curl its way across Flitwick’s face, for which he’s awarded 10 points. Slightly embarrassed at all the attention, he ducks his head, but not before he sees Mingyu glaring at him again, the soot from his failed past attempts still stuck on his cheeks. His mood dampens slightly at this, the way Mingyu seems to be finding every excuse to rile him up or push him down - even after a victory that should be seen as something to be united in their 11-year-old excitement over. 

 

And of course, it only gets worse when Minghao sees Mingyu scowling at him as Flitwick hands him a beautiful, black feather quill after class, all while telling Mingyu to watch Minghao closely next time, to take pointers from him. The sunlight bounces off the shine of the new feathers, and Minghao turns it slowly in his small hands, already thinking of how proud of him Jeonghan is going to be. When he turns, though, Mingyu is gone.

  
  


In the present day, Minghao sighs and tucks the feather into the quill-stand on his desk. He’s always heard people talk about how time is medicine, time heals all, which were just a million other paraphrases of the same sentiment: that if you leave something alone for long enough, it’ll go away on it’s own. For his own sake in this case, he prays this is true. 

                                                /

 

It’s just his luck that the saying ‘time is medicine’ does not apply to his situation. He lets Seungcheol drag him onto the train, all while his mind runs as many variations on all the ways he could avoid and/or viciously fight Kim Mingyu. They stumble into a random empty carriage, and before Minghao can finish loading his duffel into the overhead rack, he hears the sound of a very heavy body hitting fabric followed by a deafening snore. When he turns, Seungcheol has knocked out, spread-eagled across one of the seats. He wakes only when the train jolts to a halt at Hogwarts. Minghao, on the other hand, doesn’t get a wink of sleep. Every time he lets his thoughts wander, they circle back to theorizing over how much Mingyu has changed in 6 years, if he’s changed at all. Minghao isn’t the same person he was in 7th year  - if anything, his anger and hurt have just burrowed under his skin and made him a little more formidable. He’s got  _ layers _ . Like an onion, Seungcheol would say. That’s what makes him such a good Auror, he supposes. 

 

As the countryside scenery whizzes by, Minghao wonders if Kim Mingyu still wears his heart on his sleeve, if he’s still got his family and his career, or if he’s just as lonely as Minghao is sometimes.

 

When they finally arrive at the castle, they promptly set off to one of the smaller entrances. McGonagall had given them strict instructions of exactly when and where to enter, not wanting them to kick up a fuss by coming through the grand doors of the Great Hall. That would cast an immediate alert about the severity of the situation, to have Aurors coming to the school, and that’s the last thing the Hogwarts board wanted.  As a result, they end up here. There’s a small wrought-iron gate that leads to the bowels of the castle, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it specifically. Seungcheol ducks through first, bowing slightly to the small house elf that opened it for them. The house elf straightens his ratty tea cosy, blinking his bulbous eyes in surprise at Seungcheol’s acknowledgement. Minghao follows after him, giving the house elf a brief nod before he sets his eyes on the gravel path before them. From behind him, there comes a snap and their trunks disappear, along with the house elf. Minghao strides forward first, holding open an old oak door that lets them into the dungeons of the castle, which are as poorly-lit as he remembers. He clicks his tongue in disappointment, letting the door swing for a moment as he reaches for his wand to cast a Lumos. Seungcheol yelps behind him as the door nearly whacks straight into his face, and Minghao has to hold back a snort as he hears Seungcheol let out a string of curses.

  
  


When they finally come face-to-face with the enormous stone gargoyle that stands guard outside Dumbledore’s office, Minghao and Seungcheol are panting heavily and can barely get the password out. (Licorice Snap) They lean heavily against the stone walls of the passage as it spirals upwards, and just for a moment, Minghao closes his eyes and savours these last few seconds of his Kim Mingyu-free life.

 

The gargoyle eventually comes to a stop just past the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. When Minghao steps out, he’s immediately greeted by the ever-curious eyes of the phoenix, Fawkes, which he turns away from almost instantly. In all his years at Hogwarts, he had found himself in the office of the Headmaster on one occasion only; he almost wants to laugh at the way these traces of his old life seem to always circle back to him, the sickness of it all. As if noticing his sudden tension, Seungcheol gently grasps Minghao’s elbow, pulling him slowly towards the sounds of hushed conversation. To their right, an hourglass filled with emerald sand flows seamlessly. 

 

“Ah, it seems we have company,” is the first thing that greets them as they cautiously step into the small, elevated area where Dumbledore’s desk sits. Several figures surround him, and Minghao’s heart leaps as he lets his eyes run over all of them quickly - Jeon Wonwoo, lanky and slim as ever, leaning against an ornate cupboard far to the left, Joshua Hong, straight-backed with his arms crossed as he stands in front of Dumbledore’s desk and finally, finally; Kim Mingyu, broad-shouldered and fidgety as he turns to face Mingyu and Seungcheol. Minghao feels like his heart could jump out of his throat any minute, and he narrows his eyes, stepping back instinctually in defense as he feels Mingyu’s gaze on him. Unfortunately, Seungcheol has placed a palm on the small of Minghao’s back, leaving him with nowhere to run. Smiling jovially as Minghao scowls, Seungcheol pushes him forward without a hint of remorse.

 

“I’d say it’s good to see you all again, had it not been for the circumstances,” Seungcheol starts, sounding almost apologetic, but keeping the same gummy smile on his face. Minghao nods distractedly, still boring holes into Mingyu with his stare. Mingyu has gotten a lot bigger since they left Hogwarts. He’s around the same height as Minghao, sure, but where Minghao is lean and slim, Mingyu is buff and looks the part of Auror much better than Minghao does. Just that thought is enough to have the tight knot of resentment uncoil in hs stomach, and rear its head in interest. 

 

“Well, boys, since most of us are here-,” McGonagall starts, and Minghao shoots Wonwoo a puzzled look. According to her letter, this gathering should account for all of them. Wonwoo, ever the intellectual, mouths ‘Jeonghan’, and Minghao nods in understanding before he nudges Seungcheol slightly. 

 

“Jeonghan’s coming,” he whispers, and it gives him some delight to watch Seungcheol freeze up at the slightest mention of his crush. With a small grin now replacing his scowl, he focuses his attention back on McGonagall and Dumbledore.

 

“Now, I want everything that is discussed here today to be kept between you all. There will be no inside reporting to The Daily Prophet, or any other press clients that you may come across. If I hear otherwise, then you can consider yourself off this committee. Do I make myself clear?” McGonagall starts, and Minghao can almost feel the nervous swallows of everyone in the room. Despite the fact that nearly all of them are fully-immersed in their fields now and have long left the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, McGonagall still carries with her an undeniable authority that brings them right back to being a bunch of misbehaving schoolboys. 

 

After a round of hurried nodding from them all, McGonagall nods in satisfaction before turning to Dumbledore, whose usual amused, twinkling eyes have gone dark and serious.

 

“We’ve called you back today because the school has a crisis on its hands. Naturally, you’re all alumni and are familiar enough with the workings of the school, so we can forego explanations on that end,” Dumbledore begins, sweeping his gaze across the room. Mingyu nods eagerly, clinging onto every word out of Dumbledore’s mouth. Minghao can only roll his eyes at the other boy’s enthusiasm, skeptically watching with folded arms as Dumbledore reveals the issue to them.

 

“The truth is, there’s something in this school that is attacking students. We aren’t sure what it is, or how it manifested. All we know for now is that it’s of a very dark nature, and I advise all of you to be wary in your handlings of it,” Dumbledore warns them gravely, and Joshua splutters. 

 

“What do you mean ‘attacking students’?” Joshua demands, his face already looking distraught. He wrings his hands, and Mingyu looks over at him sympathetically, evidently trying to send Joshua a smile despite his own worry. A sharp thorn cuts into Minghao’s heart at this, seeing Mingyu interact so easily with his Slytherin senior despite his supposed hatred of anyone from that house. Belatedly, Minghao wonders if he was the problem all along.

 

“They’re being Petrified, Mr. Hong. Beyond that, well...I think you’d all better see for yourselves,” Dumbledore says ominously, and Minghao can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. He shares a worried look with Seungcheol before they make their way to the infirmary. Despite Joshua coming up to him and gently tugging his hand in greeting, Minghao makes sure to keep his distance from Mingyu. 

 

It shouldn’t hurt, the way Mingyu pays him no mind, and yet the thorn digs a little deeper into Minghao’s side for every minute that his actions go unacknowledged. 

  
  


They eventually arrive at the infirmary, their little entourage of boys-that-aren’t-quite-men following closely behind Dumbledore and McGonagall. It’s strange to see how little everyone has changed, despite the 6 years that passed between their graduation and the present day. Wonwoo takes wider, longer strides now, his eyes fixed fast on a point ahead of him that no one else can see. Mingyu is trailing after him, his body moving in a way that makes Minghao think he often forgets exactly how much weight he carries. Joshua and Seungcheol are dawdling alongside each other, whispering about something - Jeonghan, most likely - like two gossiping schoolgirls. Which leaves Minghao to stand back and wonder how the hell he let himself end up here, amongst a bunch of his old schoolmates who are apparently supposed to be responsible adults now, responsible enough to deal with the several Petrified students who need all the help they can offer. 

 

Dumbledore stops suddenly at the foot of a bed towards the inner end of the infirmary, and Minghao can’t hold back a gasp at the sight before him. It’s a Gryffindor student, red-haired and slight, lying completely motionless atop the pristine white sheets of the infirmary. He feels Mingyu stiffen beside him as he takes in the sight before them, his mouth tightening into a thin line. The student’s face stares unseeing into them, but it’s the slithering black veins that have begun to creep up the base of his face that truly make it a horrifying spectacle. Minghao has to suppress a shiver. Even after almost 3 years as an Auror, Minghao still isn’t used to the sight of a body that has stilled with death, or the illusion of death. He’s seen all sorts of atrocities in the field; instances where idiotic fellow colleagues had gotten themselves badly splinched, magical murders, the effects of dark magic and poisons. And yet, nothing is quite as horrifying as this, the sight of a child who seems to be without a soul, the way his eyes stare up into all of theirs and Minghao knows that there is nothing behind him. He turns away. 

 

Mingyu turns his head, catching Minghao’s motion out of the corner of his eye. To Minghao’s surprise, he offers him a small, reassuring smile that causes his gut to flip in betrayal. He must look really sick to his stomach, for Kim Mingyu of all people to take pity on him. His hands flutter around, going to straighten the front of his robe and tug at his collar, anything to get Mingyu to  _ stop looking at him like that _ when they haven’t said a single word to each other in 6 years, when Minghao still can’t find it in himself to forgive Mingyu. Instead, he looks at Dumbledore expectantly, deciding to focus his attention on the briefing. 

 

“This student was found last month, just before we sent the letters out to each of you. He was the first case, and is in the poorest state amongst them all,” Dumbledore tells them, tilting his head to a section of the room cordoned off by curtains - presumably where all of the others lie, still as death and away from prying eyes. “The black veins that you see only started appearing recently, so we don’t yet have an explanation for it. Which is where Mr. Hong and Mr. Yoon come in,” Dumbledore says sharply, and Joshua steps forward immediately. “Since you two are Curse-Breakers and are certainly more equipped than your fellow schoolmates when it comes to examining and dismantling curses, we want both of you to be looking into the kind of dark magic that was used to cause this,” Dumbledore instructs, fixing Joshua with a heavy stare over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. 

 

“Sir, does that mean you think a wizard did this, as opposed to some kind of magical dark force?” Joshua asks timidly, blinking curiously at Dumbledore.

 

“We’re not ruling out either possibility, Mr. Hong,” Dumbledore replies, and it’s exceedingly clear that he doesn’t want to press the topic any further. Minghao has to suppress a frustrated scoff at this. How typical it is for Dumbledore, the all-powerful, all-knowing wizard, to withhold information from the same people who are supposedly being entrusted to save the school. It pisses him off, to say the least. Didn’t they at least deserve a full briefing, to understand the scope of the problem as well as what solutions have already been theorized so as to save time? Maybe it’s just his Auror brain talking, but there is nothing Minghao hates more than inefficiency.

 

“Is there a problem, Mr. Xu?” Dumbledore asks pleasantly, and Minghao can’t keep his mouth shut, even as he feels Seungcheol reach out in a panic to tug at his wrist.

 

“You’re not telling us something,” Minghao says flatly, levelling Dumbledore with an annoyed stare. “How can we do what you want us to when we aren’t receiving the fullest understanding of this issue that you can offer?” Minghao challenges, crossing his arms. Somewhere behind him, he hears Seungcheol’s palm collide with his face, followed by a long-suffering sigh. To his further annoyance, Dumbledore only blinks a few times in surprise before continuing.

 

“I assure you, Mr. Xu. whatever I’m telling you is the the best that we can hope to offer,” Dumbledore asserts calm, unfrazzled by Minghao’s doubt. Minghao raises an eyebrow in disbelief but doesn’t press him further. “Moving on, these will be your assignments; Mr. Jeon and Mr. Kim, you will be tackling finding us an antidote. As our resident Healers, I expect you’ll have to work closely with Mr. Hong and Mr. Yoon,” Dumbledore drones on, and Minghao has to hide his flinch at the word ‘Healer’ - a title that should rightfully be his, and yet. And yet. Seungcheol’s hand has found its’ way to Minghao’s wrist again, and it feels far too hot. Minghao wrenches his hand away, instead looking sullenly at the tiled floor of the infirmary. 

 

“That leaves us with Mr. Choi and Mr. Xu. You’ll be our patrols, past the students’ curfew. Make sure they’re not out of bed, and if you do come across this...this dark force, you will be our first line of defense,” Dumbledore explains, looking between them gravely. Seungcheol is already nodding his head in the affirmative, but Minghao wants to scream. He didn’t come here to play nanny to a bunch of idiot teenagers who have no regard for their own personal safety, nor did he come here to let himself be petrified by some dark force that has seen fit to manifest itself in the Hogwarts halls. Before he can put forth another biting objection, he feels Seungcheol’s sweaty palm tighten around his wrist momentarily, and he sighs. Nodding hesitantly, apparently, is all it takes to get Dumbledore to ease up on them.

 

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to get some rest for tonight. The real work starts tomorrow,” Dumbledore warns them, already turning on his heel. “Goodnight!” 

 

There is a moment of silence as the boys cast momentary glances at each other, then back at the curtains that obscure the further end of the room, before they all make a mad dash for the infirmary doors. 

 

                                                                      /

 

The boys pad their way upstairs, to an extra storage room that has been magically expanded and appropriately furnished to house 6 fully-grown men. There are beds lined up in a half-circular formation around the room, similar to the dormitories each of them once occupied - except that now, all the drapes are a deep purple colour, the house insignias instead replaced by the Hogwarts crest. Minghao eyes the crests with increasing distaste as he pulls his trunk over, sitting heavily on his bed.  House unity, as far as he’s concerned, is a farce. It was a good idea, sure, but it could never be put into practice. Changing mindsets just takes way too much work, and it’s always been easier to believe what you’ve been told your entire life rather than looking for redemption. He of all people should know. He’d tried to think more outwardly, switch self-preservation for sympathy, and where had that landed him but in an office for a job he had always told himself he would never want? 

 

Wonwoo catches him scowling, and raises a quizzical eyebrow at Minghao’s stance.

 

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” he asks, a knitted sweater draped across his arms. Minghao looks the older boy up and down for a second, admiring the way his eyes are still curious and ever-bright behind his round spectacles. At Hogwarts, Wonwoo had been a Ravenclaw, and easily the smartest boy in his year. Despite his grades leaving much to be desired initially, Wonwoo was always reading, always wanting to learn more about what he was interested in rather than what would benefit him academically. There wasn’t a day that went by that someone wouldn’t find Wonwoo curled up at some unassuming part of the castle, an enormous book clutched protectively against his chest. Minghao remembers both admiring him and being completely confused by him - how could anyone knowingly self-sabotage the one thing that would guarantee their future? Either way, though, it seems Wonwoo has made a perfectly good name for himself, what with being a Healer and all. 

 

“Kim Mingyu,” Minghao answers curtly, kicking off a boot with a loud ‘thump’. Across the room, Mingyu startles.

 

“You and I both,” Wonwoo agrees, rolling his eyes. “He’s the clumsiest wizard on earth. At least you won’t have to work with him for 16 hours a day.”

 

“Hey, I thought I heard my name!” Mingyu interjects suddenly, leaning against the post of Minghao’s bed as he smiles brightly. Minghao and Wonwoo turn to him in sync, sporting matching scowls.

 

“Not now, Mingyu,” Wonwoo warns, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Yeah, seriously. Read the mood, Mingyu,” Minghao scoffs, turning back to rifling through his trunk for his pajamas.

 

“Sorry guys,” Mingyu apologizes, lowering his head as he slinks away.

 

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” Minghao complains, falling back against his pillows with an arm cast dramatically over his eyes.

 

“Yeah I know, I- wait,” Wonwoo starts, cutting himself off as he narrows his eyes at Minghao. “At school, didn’t you guys use to be a-” Wonwoo asks, the confusion evident on his face as he immediately begins piecing things together like the Ravenclaw he is. 

 

“GOODNIGHT WONWOO,” Minghao all but yells, pulling the curtains around him quickly before Wonwoo can get another word out. 

 

                                                                  /

In their fifth year, there  _ may _ have been a period of time that Minghao had a  _ tiny _ crush on Kim Mingyu. As far as Minghao was concerned, it was miniscule and passing and absolutely nothing productive came out of it, despite what Yoon Jeonghan might say.

 

Ever since their immediate dislike towards each other in their first years, Minghao and Mingyu were constantly at war. As soon as they were in each other’s immediate vicinity, there would come scheming and exploding cauldrons followed by very hurried visits to the infirmary. For the most part, it was baseless. Minghao, proud and defensive, felt like he had his Slytherin honour to defend. Mingyu, bold and reckless, felt like he had something to prove. 

 

Fifth year is special, though, because they share a class and they’re seatmates again. Operation Kill Xu Minghao has been ongoing since then, apparently, because it’s Potions Class and he really could die this time if Mingyu decides to pull out all the stocks. 

 

The day Professor Snape decides he’s had enough of Mingyu and Chan’s partnered antics in his classroom, Minghao is hidden in the shadows, smirking. He’d been geared up to watch Professor Snape just absolutely rip them a new one, thanking the heavens for finally putting Mingyu in his place. What he doesn’t expect is for Professor Snape to call him forward and assign  _ him _ the doomsday task of ‘helping’ Mingyu learn his place, by making him his new partner. Minghao’s mouth falls open and he hears a few snickers from around him, which he promptly dispels with a single glare. This, by far, is the worst possible thing that could ever happen. Minghao had always envisioned a life for himself with a family, a job, maybe even a pet cat, but now he’s going to lose it all by dying at 15 because Kim fucking Mingyu doesn’t know how to bring a cauldron to a boil without making it explode. 

  
  


“We meet again,” Mingyu greets him, sliding into the stool next to him and wriggling his eyebrows. Minghao doesn’t respond. He’s still grieving over the loss of his cat and his job and the long, prosperous life he could’ve had. 

 

Mistaking Minghao’s silence for agreement, Mingyu makes a dive for the ingredients that are splayed out on the workspace; the same ingredients that Minghao had spent most of the lesson painfully powdering to make sure they would dissolve perfectly in the Calming Draught they were supposed to be making. Before Mingyu can get ahold of them and screw everything up, Minghao reaches forward and slaps his enormous hand away.

 

“Ow! What was that for?” Mingyu complains. He rubs his hand, pouting at it as he assesses the damage. Minghao has to hold back an eyeroll. 

 

“I’ve already prepared all the ingredients. I don’t need you messing around with them. You’ll only ruin my track record, anyway,” Minghao huffs, already carefully sieving the powdered porcupine quills into the bubbling mixture. The potion bubbles slightly before turning a deep red, and Minghao allows a murmur of satisfaction to hum in his chest. 

 

“I’m not a  _ complete _ idiot, you know,” Mingyu says sarcastically as he watches Minghao’s painstakingly precise actions. “I know how to add ingredients into a potion. That’s a basic skill.”

 

“Yeah? Well, Professor Snape doesn’t seem to think so, so if you’ll just stand aside-,” Minghao snaps, but Mingyu catches his wrist as he reaches out for the powdered moonstone. Minghao freezes at the sudden touch. Mingyu’s hand is warm and slightly sweaty around his own pale wrist, and the point of contact seems to be burning more with every passing second.

 

“I know we’re supposed to be mortal enemies, but can you just give me a chance for once?” Mingyu pleads. The sincerity bleeding through his tone goes straight to Minghao’s chest, and his heartbeat speeds up in betrayal. “I’ll do my best. We’re partners now, so I say we call a truce. I won’t sabotage you, and you won’t sabotage me. Okay?” Mingyu suggests, but Minghao can barely hear any of it. He’s a little too caught up in noticing how brown Mingyu’s eyes are, warm and friendly like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day.

 

“Huh,” Minghao says intelligently. 

 

Thankfully, Mingyu assumes this counts as agreement and claps his hands gleefully, only to end up knocking the cauldron over onto both their laps.

  
  


One set of new robes and 20 deducted points later, Mingyu comes up to apologize to Minghao. As usual, he's bumbling and inefficient in his actions, going round in circles about how Minghao is 'intimidating' and how he was 'only trying to help'. After tolerating this for about 10 seconds, Minghao holds up a hand which Mingyu only looks at momentarily in confusion before he's off again.

 

"Just listen to me I really am so sorry I didn't mean to do that at all,-"

 

"Mingyu."

 

"And I know you wear robes from Malkins' so I don't know why I was flinging my hands all over the place," Mingyu says with great feeling as he continues flinging his hands all over the place to express how apologetic he truly is.

 

"Mingyu."

 

"And it's only because I'm a little terrified of you, you've always got it so together, and Minghao I can't even take care of a toad properly let alone-"

 

"MINGYU," Minghao finally yells, finding himself having to reach forward to halt Mingyu's motions before they cause yet another near-fatal accident. In response, Mingyu offers him a weak, sheepish smile. Something flutters inside Minghao's chest, but he brushes it off as nerves. He's not a particularly touchy person, let alone with Kim Mingyu of all people, so it's probably just all the physical contact going to his head making him act like Frankie First-Year.

 

The truth, however, is far simpler than that and something he’ll never, ever acknowledge. He gets the same feeling every time he lays eyes on Joshua and Jeonghan, who are easily the most attractive Slytherin seniors. However, after so long of hanging out with them at close quarters, he'd like to think himself desensitized to their charms. Whenever Jeonghan wants a bite of Minghao's candy, he just offers it to him wordlessly instead of falling for his wheedling and coddling. The same goes for Joshua (and Soonyoung), occasionally. Despite being older than him, they all know how to harness their charms at the appropriate times, and Minghao is no exception from being the appropriate victim. Joshua tends to go for the gentleman approach, all kind eyes and soft touches as he waits for you to fall into his trap. Soonyoung, at least, has the decency to be a little more genuine. He wriggles and squirms and begs until Minghao finally gives in, but it's cute nonetheless.

 

Mingyu is a totally different ballgame. He doesn't know how this has escaped his notice after 5 years of being in the same school as the boy, but Kim Mingyu is attractive. He could chalk it up to their relationship, he supposes. If you spend 5 years relentlessly telling yourself the other person is the enemy, it tends to erase anything good about them - including their looks, apparently. Besides, they'd only ever interacted through exchanged snide remarks in the darkness of a classroom under the vigilant eyes of a professor and their classmates. That doesn't really give Minghao enough time to be writing sonnets about the slope of Mingyu's nose.

 

Not that he wants to, obviously. The slope of Mingyu's nose is just as stupid as the rest of him but in the past 10 minutes Mingyu has proved himself more endearing than annoying and that’s where all of Minghao's problems start.

 

                                                                       /

 

The next morning, Minghao finds himself rudely awakened by the bright slits of sunlight that are splayed across his face. His bed curtains have been tugged wide open by none other than Seungcheol, who's standing at the foot of his bed with a terribly grim expression on his face.

 

"Who died?" Minghao manages as he sits up blearily, rubbing his eyes. Seungcheol doesn't laugh.

 

"There's been another attack, Minghao," Seungcheol informs him, his eyes grave and downcast. His heart drops into his stomach as he swings out of bed, making an automatic grab for his wand. The others' beds are already made, looking as if no one had slept in them at all. Which leaves Minghao as the last one awake.

 

"Why did no one wake me?" Minghao demands as they hurry downstairs, turning his furious gaze onto Seungcheol. "Do you have any idea what this looks like?"

 

"I know what it looks like, alright?" Seungcheol snaps in response, turning his face up sharply to face Minghao. "Don't you think I'm just as devastated as you are?"

 

"Oh I'm sorry, were you so affected that it was impossible to just say 'Hey Minghao, there's been another attack and we need to go right now.'?" Minghao says bluntly, just as they come to the bottom of the stairwell. "Everyone already thinks I'm some kind of evil Slytherin demon. What happens to me when they see I'm not pulling my weight?"

 

"Are you seriously making this about you?" Seungcheol cries, his eyes welling with disappointment. Distantly, Minghao's heart aches at being rebuked by Seungcheol, but he stands his ground. What use is it for him to be called an Auror if he can't even fulfill the basic parts of his job?

 

"I'm saying you made me look bad. I'm already thought of poorly, and this kind of thing doesn't help my reputation at all," Minghao elaborates, but Seungcheol only looks more let down.

 

"You know, I really thought you'd have grown out of this by now. But I guess beyond it all, you really just are a Slytherin," Seungcheol sighs, pulling the heavy wooden door open. Minghao's heart seizes in his throat and pain lances through his chest, but he just shuts his mouth and strides through the doorway without another word.

  
  


When they round the corner to the infirmary, all heads turn in their direction. Surprisingly, no one really says anything about Minghao's lie-in. Ever-grateful, he rushes towards the bedside of the newest victim, coming to a standstill beside Mingyu.

 

"What happened?" Minghao breathes out, wringing his hands together as he runs his eyes over the stilled body of the girl that lies atop the sickening white sheets of the infirmary that seem to sap the life out of everything. He shudders at the image. It isn’t one he’ll ever forget. 

 

“You’d know if you showed up on time,” Mingyu grunts, lifting a bulging bag of herbs from beside him and rummaging through it. Minghao’s neck burns with hot, stupid shame and he furrows his brows, his mouth open and ready to deliver some cutting reply.

“Fuck,  _ I know _ , okay? I screwed up. Can you just bring me up to speed so I can actually be of some use?” Minghao demands, but his last few words come out hurt and watery. He swallows roughly around the lump in his throat, internally chiding himself for reacting so openly. Mingyu whirls around in surprise, coming to face Minghao. 

 

“Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly, peering a little too closely at Minghao. He leans back instinctually, away from Kim Mingyu and his tendency to invade other people’s personal bubbles while smelling strongly of peppermint and tea. 

 

“Just peachy,” Minghao mutters back, averting his eyes. “Just brief me, already. Please.”

 

“Okay, well. Whatever you say,” Mingyu concedes, still biting his lip as he looks Minghao up and down, like he’s trying to figure out a diagnosis for him. “Professor Snape found her in the corridor just off the dungeons early this morning. He was the only one patrolling that area,” Mingyu tells Minghao, his voice going low with suspicion as his eyes dart around the room. Minghao raises an eyebrow.

 

“You’re not telling me you think  _ Snape _ did it,” Minghao says flatly, crossing his arms. “What proof do you have?” 

 

Mingyu leans in conspiratorially at this, motioning Minghao to come closer. With deadened eyes, Minghao takes a slight step forward, his senses immediately overwhelmed by the minty freshness of Kim Mingyu.

 

“He always dresses in all black,” Mingyu begins whispering, and Minghao snaps backward, frowning in disbelief. 

 

“He always dresses in all black,” Minghao repeats, blinking at him.

 

“Well, he was also a Slyt-,” Mingyu starts, but he cuts himself off by slapping a hand to his mouth, his eyes widened comically as he stares at Minghao, presumably trying to gauge his reaction. However, by now, all the fight has left Minghao. He just stands there, his mouth pulled into a flatline. After a beat of silence, he sighs.

 

“Good talk, Mingyu,” he comments, patting Mingyu on the arm as he walks away. Which turns out to be a mistake, because as things happen to go, Mingyu is fuckin’ jacked. Which then means that Minghao’s hand just collides uselessly against hard muscle.  He has to hold back a sharp inhale of pain as his knuckle bounces back to him. For a second, he just stares in silent resignation at Kim Mingyu and his stupid persistent prejudices and hard muscles and his smelly, minty aura before he stalks off, leaving a very confused boy in his wake. 

 

                                                                    /

 

“Wanna talk about it?” Wonwoo asks later, subdued as always even as he thumbs quickly through the crinkled pages of an enormous, aged book. 

 

“Aren’t you a little busy…?” Minghao asks unsurely, trailing off as he watches in silent horror as Wonwoo speedreads yet another page of unintelligible symbols, his eyes darting quickly behind his rounded spectacles.

 

“Not at all,” Wonwoo answers easily, his hands still moving. “I can multitask.”

 

“I can come back later,” Minghao offers again, but Wonwoo only clicks his tongue in distaste.

 

“Nonsense. Come, sit, tell Wonwoo what’s wrong,” Wonwoo instructs, summoning a beanbag that once sat at the far end of the room. Minghao falls into it with a ‘thump’, but Wonwoo doesn’t react. 

 

“I hate Mingyu,” Minghao announces, hoping that’ll snap Wonwoo out of his weird, robotic mode of operation. However, the other boy barely reacts beyond turning to blink slowly at him.

 

“This is not new information,” Wonwoo says, his hands finally stopping in their motions. Minghao shuts his eyes in relief, the room now decidedly empty of the sound of rapidly turning pages. Something occurs to him then, though, that makes his eyes fly open again so he can stare accusingly up at Wonwoo.

 

“Didn’t you imply last night that we had something going on at school?” Minghao observes, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

 

“Oh, sure. I just wanted to see how you’d react so I’d know whether or not it was true. And I got my answer,” Wonwoo verifies, before he shrugs nonchalantly and turns back to his hulking volume. By this time, Minghao is gaping, looking like a mermaid out of water.

 

“We did  _ not _ ,” Minghao finally claims, but it comes out like a plea. Wonwoo turns to look at him again, so slowly that Minghao can almost hear his neck creaking. 

 

“You did,” Wonwoo asserts flatly, sighing at Minghao. “And now you don’t know what to do because you haven’t been this close to him in years. And also because you still like him.”

 

“Did you not just hear me say that I hate him?” Minghao demands, his voice hiking in disbelief and the guilty intonation of the exposed.

 

“Oh, I heard you lie loud and clear, that’s for sure,” Wonwoo hums, smiling calmly at Minghao. He’s about 2 seconds away from Sardine Hex-ing the stupid, smug smile off of Wonwoo’s face.

 

“I  _ didn’t _ lie,” Minghao insists, but already he can feel the tips of his ears heating up. He can only imagine how stupidly pink they must be by now, so he lifts a hand up to smooth his hair over them and hopes Wonwoo won’t notice.

 

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Minghao. I know all about that feud you guys had when we were still at school,” Wonwoo asserts. “Isn’t that why you broke up?” he asks, levelling a steady look at Minghao. It makes him feel a little like a spider under Professor Moody’s magnifying glass, and he squirms uneasily under the weight of Wonwoo’s gaze. 

 

The feud he’d mentioned had always been a sore subject for Minghao. It’d landed Mingyu where Minghao wanted to be, was meant to be - and left him with the scraps. Not that being an Auror was a low-class job. It was reputable, and it payed well. Any typical Slytherin would say those attributes were more important than anything; to signify power, to be able to weld it in your hands and feel it threading through your veins in a steady hum not unlike magic. Wealth, on the other hand, was dizzying and comforting all at once; a means to continue the lavish lifestyles most Slytherins were used to. 

 

Being a Healer instead would’ve meant longer hours, lower pay, and none of the credit. And yet Minghao had found himself reaching for it in his schooling years, with brightly shining eyes as he learnt more about the work of Healers and all of the things they were expected to do, so decidedly un-Slytherin that Minghao never wanted anything but that. To live outside his house, to prove that he was something more than cunning, shrew, ambitious. Those were good traits to have, of course. For him, though, it was always about toeing the line, about living in a world beyond the boundaries of who he was and who everyone expected him to be.

 

Kim Mingyu had gone behind his back, and shoved him right back in his little box where he belonged.

 

“No,” Minghao lies, clenching his fists. Initially, it’d been easy to pretend nothing was wrong. Sure, there was some resentment, but six years had passed. Minghao figured he was over it. Eventually, he’d told himself, there would come a time to move on. Receiving that letter from Hogwarts with Mingyu’s name written unassumingly amongst its contents set that into motion - perhaps now was the time to move on. He’d resolved to either forgive Mingyu or; more realistically, to be civil with him. After all, they were colleagues now, not feuding schoolboys. 

 

However, what he hadn’t expected was to still be so endeared by all of Mingyu’s charms. Six years had passed, but it turns out his heart was just as traitorous as it was on the very first day he realized he might like Kim Mingyu a lot more than enemies should. That day in the potions classroom lives on, haunting his memory with a great potency that he’ll never be able to get rid of - kind of like the stain Mingyu had left on his robes. 

 

“Are you ever going to communicate with him like a reasonable human being?” Wonwoo proposes, sighing deeply. “You can’t keep doing this forever. It doesn’t just torture you,” he reminds Minghao, who has his head in his hands. 

 

“I can’t do that,” Minghao finally admits, peering up at Wonwoo from in between his fingers. When he meets Wonwoo’s silently questioning gaze, he caves.  “I never told him why we had to break up,” he explains hesitantly, squeezing his eyes shut behind his hands.

 

There is a beat of silence before Wonwoo interjects by letting out a stream of curse words. Minghao shoots up, alarmed from his perch. 

 

“Why in Merlin’s name would you not explain something like that?” Wonwoo asks desperately, his hands flying upwards to tangle in his hair, pulling it in all directions. “Do you have any idea about the kind of grief he’s been giving me about seeing you again? All because you couldn’t grow a pair and break up with him properly?” Wonwoo nearly screeches. Minghao is still very much frozen in his corner, completely overwhelmed by this spontaneous breakdown Wonwoo seems to be experiencing. 

 

“He made me help him pack his clothes just so he could pick out things you might like, Minghao,” Wonwoo seethes, his eyes narrowing. “You have no idea how many sweaters and robes and pants and pairs of underwear I had to-”

 

“Underwear?” Minghao asks, interrupting Wonwoo, but the other man pays him no mind.

 

“No, you had no idea, and he’s still looking for your approval after all these years! You, on the other hand, get to go off and do your whole hero act while he pines endlessly after you,” Wonwoo continues, his voice dipping dangerously low at the end. He looks at Minghao over the edges of his glasses, and for a horrible second, Minghao is reminded of the way that Dumbledore looks at them; like troublesome schoolboys, incompetent and unable to top themselves from making a mess of everything. 

 

A stone settles itself in his heart then, heavy and as hard as a bezoar. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he thinks distantly of how in the world he’s supposed to apologize for ostracizing Mingyu over something he didn’t even know he’d done wrong. 

 

                                                           / 

 

“We’ve got a patrol tonight,” Seungcheol reminds Minghao gently later, interrupting his glaring at Mingyu from across the infirmary. Minghao only hums in affirmation as a response, not taking his eyes off of his target. Mingyu had caught him once, had waved (cutely) even, and Minghao had had to turn away as fast as he could, still trying to figure out how he was going to resolve his Mingyu Problem. 

 

“Hello? Earth to Minghao?” Seungcheol says again, kicking the base of Minghao’s chair. Minghao startles, turning to face Seungcheol and his ridiculous puppy-dog eyes. “Are you still angry about what I said earlier?” he asks, a much more pleading note having wormed its way into his voice. 

 

“No,” Minghao scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You were right, anyway. I’ll never be more than this,” he remarks, resignation covering his voice. At this self-deprecation, Seungcheol’s eyes widen and he lurches forward immediately, leaning his head against Minghao’s shoulder. The other boy closes his eyes at the contact. He tends to forgets that Seungcheol is the youngest in his family, used to love and being loved. To be faced with the unmoving wall that is a hurt Minghao only serves to confuse him, and this is his strange, special way of reaching out. Sighing, Minghao pats Seungcheol’s head. 

 

He doesn’t miss the way Mingyu is watching them now, his eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction as he looks up from his research table. 

 

“You’ve always been more than that,” Seungcheol promises, nuzzling his head against Minghao’s neck now. He shudders involuntarily at this. He’ll tell himself it’s because he isn’t accustomed to the sincerity of Seungcheol’s words in these situations, but as he holds eye contact with Mingyu, he knows he’ll never be anything more than a stupid, selfish Slytherin. 

 

                                                               / 

 

When night falls, the castle turns as still and silent as the grave. Minghao and Seungcheol stride down the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, wands held aloft with shared light as they chase loitering students back into the safety of their common rooms.

 

The whole task has Minghao rolling his eyes, instead letting Seungcheol be the disciplinary mother hen to these reckless students. Call it arrogance, but he knows his job here is beyond playing nanny. He’s here to stop a dark force from ruining the lives of innocent students and the  career of an institution which has raised the last 400 years of the wizarding population. This train of thought has him sinking into seriousness, straightening his shoulders and pulling himself up to his full height as he follows Seungcheol down the corridor, casting warning glances at any student that dares let out even a squeak of rebellion.

  
  


Growing sick of their silence, Minghao finally speaks up.

 

“What do you think is causing this?” he asks, watching Seungcheol out of the corner of his eye. The other boy turns to him quickly, startled by the sudden nature of his question.

 

“From the way Dumbledore described it...tell me if I’m being stupid, by the way, I know this is far-fetched,” Seungcheol confesses, cutting himself off before he’d even begun. Minghao shoots him a disapproving look, but raises an eyebrow anyway, urging him to continue.

 

“Have you ever heard of an Obscurus?” Seungcheol asks. Minghao shakes his head, trying to wrap his head around the foreign name. “I’ve read about it before. It’s this magical phenomenon that surfaced mostly in the 1920s, in America - basically this dark force that manifests when young wizarding folk aren’t allowed to develop their magic in a healthy way,” he explains. “It creates a dark energy out of that suffocation.”

 

“But this is Hogwarts,” Minghao argues, matching Seungcheol’s strides. “No one has to suffocate here. We’re all wizarding folk.”

 

“Not necessarily. People still have to hide who they are; even when it comes to things like blood status, that could play a part,” Seungcheol suggests, and Minghao has to consciously hold himself back from snapping at him again. No dark force was being created just because some people can’t find it in themselves to be confident in who they are. When he articulates this, Seungcheol scoffs.

 

“It’s not a matter of confidence, Minghao. It’s about their environment,” he chides, and Minghao furrows his brows, confused. “Think of it this way: if every day you were made to feel ashamed of who you are, to the point where you could never express it out of pure fear of the reaction it’d draw - wouldn’t it just flood up inside of you?” Minghao nods thoughtfully at this, frowning slightly.

 

“I suppose you’re right,” he admits hesitantly, still frowning. “Have you told Dumbledore about this?” he asks suddenly, surprised when he sees Seungcheol’s cheeks burning with a blush in the dim light of the corridor. 

 

“No. It’s just a silly theory, anyway. We won’t know till we actually see this thing for ourselves,” he counters, and Minghao can’t contest the validity of that observation, as much as he hates hearing Seungcheol put himself down.

Their hushed discussion is cut short with the suddenness of a shrill scream that echoes down the corridor, and has their blood freezing in their veins. 

 

Breaking into a run, they thunder down the hallway, towards the sounds of the screams that seem to be growing louder in volume. As they round the corner, Minghao can’t hold back a horrified gasp at the horrendous, unknowable sight before him.

 

In the darkness of the hallway, there’s a writhing, tentacled black mass which seems to rob the surroundings of any light. Looking directly at its core has the same effect as sinking into a black hole - there’s no light, only emptiness. It twists and turns, hovering in midair as its tendrils lash out wildly around it. From beside him, Minghao hears Seungcheol gasp out the word “Obscurus.”

 

It’s only then that he spots a now-familiar flash of mustard yellow against black, the colours of the Hufflepuff tie standing out against the monster. Minghao’s heart rises into his throat as he sees the girl suspended helplessly in one of the dark tentacles, her own figure squirming and kicking in an attempt to not succumb to the Petrifying powers of the mass.

 

“Minghao!” he hears Seungcheol call from his side. “Don’t look at the middle of it, whatever you do!” he yells, his eyes wide.

 

It’s in that moment that an incredibly stupid idea hits Minghao. It goes against every one of his self-preservering sermons, every desire to put himself first and the world second. And yet, in that moment, his Auror instincts overwhelm him, and the desire to help the helpless is greater than the inviting pull of self-preservation. Without thinking, and in an exceedingly Gryffindor-like fashion, he lunges forward, pulling his wand up from his side and crying out “Stupefy!”

 

The red light of his spell, however, simply bounces harmlessly off the Obscurus. All it does is cause the creature to reach a winding tentacle towards him, and before he can shout ‘Reducto!’, he finds himself being picked up. The last thing he feels before his world goes black is the heavy thud of his head against the concrete walls of the corridor. 

 

                                                                 /

When Minghao comes to, it’s to the warm, sweet press of chocolate against his lips. His eyes fly open in shock, only to meet the equally horrified gaze of a certain Kim Mingyu, still frozen as he holds the piece of chocolate to Minghao’s slightly parted lips. With a painstaking slowness, Minghao wraps his lips around the chocolate, flinching slightly as his mouth grazes Mingyu’s hand. When he finally withdraws, Mingyu blinks at him, looking slightly dazed.

 

“ _ Why _ were you just trying to feed me chocolate?” Minghao demands, looking up at Mingyu through his eyelashes. When he tries to sit up to make himself a little more formidable, pain lances through his back, and he has no choice but to concede, slumping back with a withheld groan. Mingyu’s eyes widen at this, his hands already fluttering to adjust the pillows that support Minghao’s form.

 

“You don’t remember?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. “It was an Obscurus. Chocolate helps with healing after someone comes into contact with dark magic.” Minghao lets out a soft ‘ah’ at this, vague memories of the attack flooding his mind. 

 

“What about the girl? Did she make it out alright?” he prods, keeping his eyes trained on Mingyu as he braces himself for the worst. His heart thumps painfully in his chest as Mingyu’s eyes well with pity, and he turns away.

 

“She’s fine. She’s been coming in to visit you ever since,” Mingyu answers, but his face is still marred by the shadow of his great concern. He manages to contain himself for a few more seconds before he finally blurts, “What were you thinking?” Minghao startles at this sudden interrogation, and the way Mingyu’s enormous hands are fisting his bedsheets in worry. 

 

“What was I thinking?” Minghao echoes, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

 

“You put your life in danger, Minghao. What if something worse had happened, huh? You’ve been knocked out for 2 days straight. What if you hadn’t woken up?” Mingyu spills out, his questions launching at Minghao like a wave of bullets. The whole time, his voice is piled high with emotion, and Minghao is unwillingly confronted with the wave of regret that claws its way up his throat. He’d abandoned Mingyu all those years ago, the same Mingyu that can still find it in himself to hold no resentment towards Minghao. If anything, he’s kinder and gentler with him than ever before. He’d fed him chocolate, looked after him while he was out cold, and most of all; he still worried about him. Worry stems from care, Minghao knows this. The stone in his gut seems to weigh a million pounds as he gazes into Mingyu’s watery eyes, and feels like the floor has been pulled out from under him, again. 

 

“Gyu,” Minghao interrupts quietly, effectively silencing him with his use of the affectionate nickname that hasn’t been heard in years. “Could you tell me about what happened in seventh year?” 

 

“Do you have a concussion?” Mingyu asks immediately, frowning as he peers into Minghao’s eyes. “Do you even know what year it is?”

 

“I know, I know,” he’s quick to reassure the other boy, but even with the haste of his insistence, he knows the others’ doubts aren’t entirely dispelled. “I just need you to tell me how we broke up.”

 

Mingyu’s face falls at this. “Hao, please,” he pleads, a pained expression tightening his features.

 

“Just tell me,” Minghao instructs, and he feels that same pain mirrored in his chest once again.

“Fine,” Mingyu concedes, looking down at his lap. “I walked you to your dorm, after we….hung out. You kissed me at the portrait hole that night. I always remembered that, even after. It was the first time you ever initiated something with me,” Mingyu narrates, but his voice is hushed with the ominous shadow of pain and a splintering future. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I was in that moment.” 

 

“And then?” Minghao asks hoarsely. In the back of his mind, the feeling of Mingyu’s mouth against his is still ever-blooming, and he hates how he’s begging to re-live this pain now, to put punishment where pleasure and peace once were. 

 

“And the next morning, you ignore me completely. I thought it was just because of the stress of the placement tests - you always held the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Mingyu remembers, smiling sadly. Minghao can’t help but bite his lip painfully at the memory; the placement test was an event for all seventh years to take on a project which would effectively showcase their magical capabilities in a field they were interested in, so they could be scouted. 

 

“I left you alone after that. And then, that afternoon, you break up with me. What else is there left to say?” Mingyu wonders, his voice coming out as a rough whisper. Minghao closes his eyes at the cadence of it, remembers what it was like when he and Mingyu were nothing more than silly schoolboys with a stupid rivalry and a love that never should’ve been.

 

“Sorry,” Minghao apologizes, shattering the silence. “I just needed a reminder.”

 

“A reminder for what? Do you actually have a concussion?” Mingyu frets, his voice sparking with worry.

 

“A reminder of why I shouldn’t fall in love with you again,” Minghao breathes out, and the consternation that blooms across Mingyu’s face hurts him more than any Obscurus could.  

  
  


                                                                /

 

“You said  _ what _ to him?” Jeonghan screeches approximately 3 days later, as he sits with Minghao over an interview which was meant to be describing his experience fighting the Obscurus They’d discussed the Obscurus for about 30 seconds before Jeonghan had narrowed his eyes at Minghao and commanded him to ‘spill’. Despite having only arrived a few hours earlier, Jeonghan had apparently very quickly been brought up to speed on the latest happenings of the Hogwarts edition of Love Island - namely whatever dramatic nonsense it was that had transpired between Mingyu and Minghao. Joshua and Seungcheol, of course, were the investigative journalists responsible for this bestowing of information, and Minghao makes a mental note to himself with a full agenda for revenge. 

 

“Is that really what’s important here?” Minghao questions desperately, trying to navigate this conversation back to its main subject before Jeonghan gets the opportunity to go off the rails.

 

“Please tell me you’ve spoken to him since,” Jeonghan begs, ignoring his plea. Immediately, Minghao goes silent. 

 

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t raise you like this.”

 

“It’s not that bad,” Minghao tries to suggest, but is effectively silenced once again with Jeonghan’s glare.

 

“Not that bad? You basically implied you were falling in love with him, again!” Jeonghan repeats, a note of hysteria beginning to seep into his voice. It’s almost comical, the way Minghao is entirely unmoved, and Jeonghan’s the one doing all the freaking out. Distantly, he remembers why this situation feels so familiar, so much like an image reflected back at him in a mirage that he’s always a hair’s breadth away from grasping at.

 

The first time him and Mingyu had kissed, an almost comically-similar series of events had gone down. Minghao had bolted his way back into the common room, slamming the portrait hole behind him. To this day, he’ll never forget the mental image of Joshua, Jeonghan and Seungcheol tangled up on the couch, eagerly awaiting his return the same way parents’ would the night they send their kid off for the first time. When he comes back, he’s immediately bombarded by their incessant firing of questions, and he only manages to shut them up when he talks about the kiss. They listen in reverence, even raising their hands to ask questions when he talks. It reminds him of the innocence of schoolchildren, and in that moment, there is peace.

 

                                                                     /

 

In that strange, dark cavern in the back of his mind that carries everything in the After, he remembers the the horrified stares of Joshua, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol - even then, their lives had been intertwined. 

 

He vaguely remembers being demanded an explanation, a masters’ dissertation on how and why the only symbol of inter-house unity had been disintegrated. He remembers the scramble for reason, more bleeding hurt than anything. He remembers how they’d seen his face crumple, how they’d reached out to catch him when all he seemed to be doing was falling. 

 

He remembers the stinging rise of words bubbling their way out of his throat, telling a story of love and sabotage and the level of stupidity required to actually get looped into trusting Kim Mingyu. 

 

As with any case, - magical or not - there are a million fractals spinning wildly out of control, telling different versions of the same story.

 

To Mingyu, there was a breakup; what could loosely be called a breakup. He supposed that really is the only thing to call it when the boy you think you love suddenly decides you’re repulsive, and can barely stand to look at you. To Mingyu, he’d been nothing but loving and gentle and one day he figured Minghao had had enough of him. And that was that. Had he stopped loving him? That’s a different story.

 

To Jeonghan, Joshua; there was a breakup. It was a messy, frayed mess with a million loose ends that would surely slither back to Minghao at some point, but neither of them want to rock the boat when their friend is still reeling. They reach out with comforting, nurturing hands. They know this is something Minghao’s never had, and maybe that’s why it’s so important that they give it to him now. Silently, the romantics in both of them think that there is still something to be salvaged from the wreck - but they are not in the position to go deep-diving, not when Minghao is still hovering at the jaws of a trench. 

 

To Seungcheol; there was a breakup, but he has a hard time believing any of this happened. Kim Mingyu could be stupidly competitive, much like him, but he was silly in competition, and there was a far line between that and being malicious. 

 

To Minghao; there was a breakup. There was a breakup because before that there were placement tests, and those bring out the worst in him. He stays up too late, takes far too many Wide-eye potions to carry him through all the nights that blur together into a solid mass of paranoia and solitude. He doesn’t know how to fit Mingyu into this. Mingyu is new in his life - surely it was too early to introduce him to this side of Minghao? There is a shame there, and for that, everything became a consequence. 

 

The deepest stab comes when he finds out that Mingyu has beat him out in being scouted for the position of Mediwizard. Logically, he’d known that they were competing for the same position, but it seemed a given that he’d get it. In academic standings for the past 6 years, he’d always been soaring far above the other boy. Perhaps it was stupid of him to think that now, to get complacent. (He likes to tell himself he got complacent, to make it hurt less. He acts like he didn’t pore over endless books, essentially end up living in the Greenhouse when they were nursing Mandrakes, turn his eyes dry and painful from all those hours awake.) 

 

But still, there comes word that Mingyu’s project had miraculously healed itself overnight. Miraculously, both he and Minghao had the same project. Miraculously, his had flourished while Minghao’s withered - the one night he’d been convinced to sleep in his own dorm bed for once. 

 

What other conclusion was there? It was worse to think that it’d all been a lie, that the only reason they’d ever gotten involved was so Mingyu could take advantage of him. The very idea sickens him, and he can’t live with the tilting nausea that builds steadily in his stomach.

 

Minghao had cut contact with Mingyu the next morning. 

 

                                                                  / 

 

“And you never told him you thought he did it?” Jeonghan asks thoughtfully as they stride back to the infirmary, safely in the present day and away from all the sharpness that old memories hold. 

 

“I thought he did it?” Minghao scoffs, turning away. “I  _ know _ he did. What other explanation is there?”

 

“No, you don’t,” Jeonghan rationalizes, but already Minghao can see the annoyance creeping in. “I don’t know why you do this, this - you keep yourself from the things you love, and Mingyu is just another one of those things,” he asserts, and Minghao’s eyes widen in horror.

 

“I do not  _ love _ Mingyu,” Minghao yelps, except in his shock and horror, it comes out too loud- just as Mingyu swings open the doors of the infirmary. 

 

“Hello,” he says, and the unfriendly nature of his tone is enough to tell Minghao all he needs to know. Before he can get a word out, though, Jeonghan is pulling him through the doors of the infirmary, whispering about how there’ll surely be a better, less dramatic time than this.

 

“We’ve made a bit of a breakthrough about the Obscurial,” he announces, and Minghao’s eyebrows shoot upwards. The whole time they were in that cupboard, and he’d just asked him questions about his love life and just figured he wouldn’t need to mention the enormous progress he’d made on the main problem at hand.

 

“Since there was a surge of Obscurus activity in New York during the 1920s, we’ve got enough of a record of their behaviour, and the basic reasons for their existence - they’re borne out of suppressed magic,” Seungcheol starts, helpfully supplying facts when he catches sight of Mingyu’s confused expression.

 

“But how would that apply here? This is Hogwarts, magic is free here,” Wonwoo argues, furrowing his brows.

 

“Not exactly. I’m thinking that an Obscurial could be made from more than that. When you think about it; those kids who suppressed their magic during the time of the Witch Trials - it was because of shame,” Seungcheol suggests, his voice going deadly quiet, an undercurrent of emotion flowing uninterrupted through it. When no one interjects, he continues.

 

“Shame isn’t too far-fetched a concept to breed here, right?” Jeonghan asks, and the room stills immediately, as if he’d fired a bullet.

 

“But that could happen anywhere,” Mingyu argues suddenly, his face sullen. “You can be made to feel ashamed for all kinds of things - your favourite book, the way you look, for love,” he lists, and Minghao flinches at how bitter he sounds. 

 

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at this, but doesn’t comment. “I meant on a wider basis,” he elaborates, still looking unsurely between Mingyu and Minghao. “Like, for example, if you were made to feel ashamed of your blood status.”

 

Minghao stills at this, carefully eyeing Mingyu. There were countless times where the other boy was teased by his seniors and fellow yearmates for doing so poorly academically - they used to say that his blood was so dirty, there could surely be no magic left in it. Minghao had long abandoned that train of thought. For him, being a pureblood always meant suffocation and obligation, and anything was better than that kind of life. For Mingyu, though, it was a painful point of contention. 

 

He hates that he still remembers all the chinks in Mingyu’s armour. Even after they’d fallen apart, he’d never stopped knowing the other boy, and no matter how hard he tries to be resentful, there’ll always be that marker of a reminder. Unfortunately, said reminders make him want to close the distance between them so he can lay his head on the taller boy’s shoulder in comfort; but that’s out of the question.

 

“Should we ask McGonagall about cases of bullying?” Seungcheol wonders, breaking the tense silence. “We haven’t been here too long, so it’s not possible for us to make concrete conclusions like this,” he suggests, turning to Jeonghan and Joshua for validation. When they nod in affirmation, the trio immediately set off to McGonagall’s office, Jeonghan casting a knowing glance over his shoulder at Mingyu and Minghao. 

 

Minghao freezes immediately. Jeonghan always did have a way of flawlessly balancing his social life and the seriousness of how he handled his work, and apparently, this particular situation isn’t out of his brackets. Mentally coming up with 500 different ways to smite him, Minghao turns to Mingyu with forced professionalism.

 

“So, what do you say we-” Minghao starts, but Mingyu immediately cuts him off with a resounding “No.” The room goes quiet again as Minghao blinks in disbelief, taking in this foreign version of Mingyu that seems to be bristling with anger and hurt.

 

“You don’t get to do this to me again,” Mingyu says quietly, but the pure hurt colouring his voice is what stops Minghao in his tracks. “You don’t get to act like everything is fine and dandy when you do things that affect me, and then I end up shouldering the burden,” he continues, gaining confidence now that it seems Minghao is really listening to him.

 

“I’m sorry, what is this about?” Minghao interrupts, stepping backwards again.

“Everything!” Mingyu bursts out, so loud that the other boy almost jumps out of his skin. The infirmary is deathly quiet in contrast to the anger that simmers between the two of them, but neither of them care to take notice. “When you broke up with me and just left like that, I had to convince myself and move on all alone with no closure. You have no idea how hard that is to do,” Mingyu recounts, his eyes hard but tinged with an undeniable sadness as he stares Minghao down. “I had to tell myself it was because you were tired, because you wanted a career and felt that it was more important than a relationship with me. Even now, that’s the least bitter conclusion I have.” 

 

“As opposed to- what?” Minghao snarls, his own annoyance finally flaring with every second that Mingyu looks at him accusingly. “You’re acting like you don’t know what you did. You don’t get to play the victim when you ruined my life.”

 

“Did what?” Mingyu blurts. His face falls immediately, but it’s the intonation of innocence, of confusion in his voice that breaks Minghao.

 

“You sabotaged my final project for Herbology, didn’t you? And all these years, you get to do the thing I always wanted to, while I-” Minghao cuts himself off, turning away as he feels the nauseating warmth accumulating in the base of his throat.

 

“I what?” Mingyu shrieks, and it’s loud enough to wake even the Petrified students. 

 

“Don’t make me say it again,” Minghao huffs, reaching up to subtly wipe at his eyes. 

 

“You think I ruined your life. On purpose,” Mingyu repeats faintly, like the very thought sickens him. “And that’s why-”

 

“That’s why,” Minghao confirms, squeezing his eyes shut. 

 

There is a beat of silence before the moment hits. Mingyu’s voice has toned down, so low that Minghao has to strain his ears to hear it.

 

“I’d never,  _ never _ do that to you. I know we’ve had our fights and arguments, and we’ve almost always been on different sides, but,” Mingyu pauses, stepping closer to Minghao, “If you think I’d do something like that the one time we were aligned, you don’t know me at all.”

 

Minghao inhales shakily, steeling himself for one last defiant look at Mingyu. “What are you saying?” 

 

“I’m saying I want to be on your side, Minghao,” Mingyu is saying, and just like that, the world feels like it’s falling out from under him all over again, just like it had the first time they’d kissed all those years ago. To steady himself, Minghao reaches out for Mingyu, and he pulls him in like there was never a space between them to begin with.

 

                                                                              /

 

“We’ve got it!” Joshua shouts, bursting through the doors of the infirmary. Immediately, Minghao stands from where he’d been helping Mingyu with concocting some strange potion to keep the vitals of the Petrified students’ up, their hands interlaced. Joshua pauses at this for a second, his mouth gaping, before he shakes it off and goes off on another rambling tangent. 

 

“Okay so we couldn’t find the specific identity of the Obscurus because there were just far too many records to sort through,” Joshua begins, his brows already starting to furrow. “Concerning as that is, we’re pretty sure it’s a student, and a young one at that. Obscurus don’t usually survive past the age of 12,” he elaborates, his voice dipping towards the end.

 

From beside Minghao, Mingyu stands, his face troubled. “So we’re dealing with a child?”

 

“I’m afraid so,” Joshua affirms. “And the worst of it is, when we looked at articles of how the Obscurus was defeated... it was through a concentration of offensive spells.” he finishes, looking troubled.

 

“But that’ll kill them,” Minghao argues, feeling his hands growing colder and colder by the minute despite being shrouded in Mingyu’s warmth. 

 

“I know,” he says, and Minghao’s stomach drops. “But it’s the only way.”

 

“This is a child we’re talking about,” Minghao protests, tightening his grip around Mingyu’s hand like it’s the only thing holding him to the ground. “I can’t do that.”

 

“It’s not just you,” Joshua sighs, closing his eyes. “In order for it to be concentrated enough, all of us are going to have to aim at it.” 

 

Mingyu pales at this almost instantly. In alarm, Minghao turns to press a comforting hand against his back. Joshua raises an eyebrow but says nothing, the weight of the realisation of murder still hanging over them.

 

‘How do you make a choice like that?’ Minghao wonders as he watches Mingyu’s eyes dart around the room, watching his patients nervously. He knows the other boy is struggling too, knowing that a dangerous dark force has put all these children here, but also knowing that said dangerous dark force is also a child, also lost, also scared. 

 

“Couldn’t we just….talk to it?” Mingyu suggests feebly, and Joshua shoots him a sad, watery smile.

 

“I’m afraid not. It’s so volatile to begin with that to partake in any kind of negotiation would be out of the question,” Joshua explains, shuffling his feet. “If anything, the Obscurus will die either way. Like I said, they don’t live very long. So either they die alone and in pain, or-”

 

“It’s a mercy killing,” Minghao breathes out. Joshua nods slowly, and Mingyu looks even more sick than before.

 

“I don’t suppose we have a choice,” Mingyu remarks, letting out a barking laugh devoid of all humour.

 

“There’s always a choice,” Joshua advises. “Just depends on whether it’s bearable or not,” he remarks, shrugging before he steps away. 

  
  


                                                                    /

 

“It’s either this or we continue letting people get hurt until it dies,” Minghao rationalises sullenly, his hands coming up to press circles into his temples.

 

“You’re seriously considering what Joshua said? Are you out of your mind?” Mingyu questions, his face contorted in something resembling disgust. It evokes something ugly and angry in Minghao, the same shame creeping up on him, now made more powerful by the fact that he’d thought there was acceptance between them.

 

“On the field, we have to make decisions like this all the time. Kill one, and save so many others, or kill none and let countless others be killed?” Minghao explains, pacing back and forth in an effort to get some of his energy out, to tame it before it pounces on the nearest available source of annoyance.

 

“Why’d you have to say it like that?” Mingyu groans, clutching his head. “I’m a Mediwizard. My whole life is supposed to be about helping people, and now they want me to commit murder?” he questions, his voice raised hysterically.

 

“It’s for the greater good,” Minghao finally concludes, closing his eyes as he leans against the pillar. 

 

Mingyu snorts, disbelieving. “I’m sure that’s what Grindelwald told himself during the first war, when he killed all those Muggle-borns.”

 

Minghao turns on him instantly, teeth bared in a snarl. “This isn’t even close to the same thing, and you know it.”

 

The other boy sighs at this, putting his face in his hands in an action of pure despair. “I’m sorry, I just...I really don’t know what we’re going to do.”

 

“Inaction might make you complicit here, too,” Minghao tells him, softened slightly now that he sees Mingyu’s hurt is really just the confusion and despair of a boy with far too many burdens to bear. “You may as well play a part in saving the school, even if that means sacrifice.”

 

Finally, Mingyu looks up at him, and with hands interlocked, they trace guilty footfalls and heavy hearts back to their dormitory - where the silence of uneasiness sticks to the air around them, and none of them get a wink of sleep.

  
  


Which makes the alarm cry at 3am a welcome distraction, almost. The Caterwaul Charm had been set off in a corridor nearby, and Minghao is praying with all his heart that it’s just a normal student out of bed as he sprints down the corridor, Seungcheol and Joshua by his side. 

 

When they round the corridor and there’s a writhing black mass before them, Minghao’s heart stops. The world around them spins in slow motion, the writhing tendrils of the Obscurus individualistic and defined with the thrum of magic gone rotten. There’s so much that’s clearly wrong with it that it makes Minghao’s heart lurch, and for a split second he feels the familiar pain of a child trapped in a box with no plausible way out. 

 

And still, he raises his wand. Catches the gaze of Seungcheol and Joshua - equally scared, once-schoolboys now thrust into the forefront of responsibility. From the other end of the corridor, Mingyu, Jeonghan, and Wonwoo come skidding onto the scene, their faces ashen with the horrendous acceptance of complicity. 

 

Together, they raise their wands, shooting out matching lines of glimmering red that seem far too jovial for a scenario like this. Minghao squeezes his eyes shut as his wand hums beneath him, questioning but leaning into his touch as always, his closest companion on the field.

 

He opens his eyes with a bursting finality as he hears a horrible sucking sound and the Obscurus crumples into ash, its’ infinite smithereens beginning to blow away in the breeze that filters down the corridor. There’s a sickening silence amongst them, broken only when Mingyu crumples to the floor, eyes closed.

  
  


                                                                        /

  
  


Minghao refuses to budge from the infirmary after that. The students have begun to awaken, some having been administered the Mandrake potion which cures Petrification. Amongst their laughter and easygoing smiles at the relief of being alive, Minghao sits stone-faced, holding onto Mingyu as tightly as he can.

 

The other boy had crumpled after defeating the Obscurus, a lifetime’s worth of stress and worry and shame piling down on him. Dumbledore had said the Obscurus might have an effect on them, preying on their most painful memories, especially if they resembled their own. It hurts Minghao to think of Mingyu - bright, bubbly Mingyu - living in shame because of something he couldn’t control, something as simple as blood status. A kind of shame Minghao had contributed to in their early years, and now feels a lifetime of regret for. He holds Mingyu’s hand in his lap, tracing the veins, the rivers of blood that keep him alive - exactly the same as everyone else. No dirtier, and no cleaner.

 

Wonwoo had come in a few times to check his vitality, and to assure Minghao that he wouldn’t be dying on him any time soon - his body just needed to cope with the effects of the Dark Magic. Still, Minghao sits, vigilant as ever, refusing to budge.

 

                                                                           /

 

Finally, when he’s alone, and the empty beds of the infirmary are lit only by the pale glow of the moonlight - he lets his words out.

 

“Wake up soon, please,” he starts, his breath already coming out shaky. “I feel so stupid. You probably can’t hear me at all, right?” he asks, a watery laugh escaping his lips when Mingyu doesn’t reply. “It’s okay, you can take your time. But don’t make me lose you again,” he tries to scold, but he just ends up sniffling. He presses his cheek to Mingyu’s hand. It’s so, so cold. “I only just got you back.” A hot tear slides down his face, landing on Mingyu’s hand.

 

And just like that, Mingyu stirs. Minghao doesn’t feel it, too lost in a maze of grief and hurt that he isn’t even considering mapping his way out. 

 

“You made me better,” Minghao admits, his voice hoarse from crying. The other boy is still watching him, completely silent. “I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

 

“You’re fine just the way you are,” Mingyu scolds him suddenly, unable to hold himself back from retorting to Minghao’s self-deprecation. He reaches out to pat Minghao’s hair gently, causing him to lurch from his chair in shock.

 

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Minghao whines, wiping furiously at his face. “How long have you been awake?”

 

“Long enough for you to know you can’t get rid of me that easily,” Mingyu jokes, grinning at him. When Minghao doesn’t reciprocate, he lifts his arms invitingly, beckoning him towards him. 

 

Minghao sighs as he shuffles over, plopping himself back into Mingyu’s arms - which, if he thinks about it, is the only place he felt like he ever truly belonged. He rests his head against Mingyu’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, the steady reassurance of life.

 

“For the record,” Mingyu suddenly interrupts, his booming voice shocking Minghao for a second. “I didn’t make you better. You did that all on your own.”

 

“Not really,” Minghao muses, tucking his head into the crook of Mingyu’s shoulders. “I had help.”

 

They’re both still dancing around what they want to say, and it frustrates Mingyu to no end. In true Gryffindor fashion, he asks Minghao to be his boyfriend.

 

When he’s met with an affirmative, his reaction is so overflowing that he knocks over an entire set of Pepper-Up potions, which sizzle against the tiled floor. Neither of them pay it any mind, too lost in each other’s laughter and the relief of familiar company and full circles to care.


End file.
